I found myself in a new place and once again, I must start over. I knew that there is expected travel, but I never thought that each time I must prove myself. New faces, new peers, and a whole new chain of command are something to get used to. For the last two years, I have been the model soldier, superseding all their standards. “Among the best” is what the plaque reads. As I hang this plaque on a new wall, it means nothing now. Once again, I must play another role. Some people are in search for their identity. For me, all I must do is to choose. My true identity is something of a mystery. Like a chameleon who changes its color to adapt to their surrounds, I, too, assume a different persona for adaptation.
In the Army, I learned that it is a tight and closely-knit group. I remembered my first day at my last unit. It was about 2:30 in the morning when I heard a knock on my door. It felt like I open the gates of the running of the bulls in Spain. A dozen of troops bombarded my living quarters, stuffed me in a sleeping bag, and hung out the third story window as welcome. I learned then that surviving the military has to be done as group. To become part of the group seemed easy for me. I became a friend to everyone. I belong to all different types of personas. From the maladjusted to the barracks’ rat (loner), I conformed to their personalities. I became who they were.
I suppose that this new place will not be any different. As I look at my new room, I can pretty much describe what type of person is my roommate. The room is quite bare with the exceptions of pin-up playboy bunnies littered the room and his desk is filled with old letters from Gina. Other than his Walkman, he didn’t have any other kind of electronic entertainment. His bed sheet was a bit eccentric. I’ve met some strange characters, but Star Trek bed sheets struck me as odd, far more than most. For the majority of people in search of friends, people tend to be friends with someone like themselves or someone that can guide them. I could tell that he was someone stuck in the past. He needed a guide. In others, I became the devil on his shoulders.
As I was unpacking my bags, a firm knock is heard from the door. The door flung open and a tall, medium build man with a straight face stared at me. By the look of his collar, he had to be my platoon sergeant, in other words my boss. He is ugly fellow, especially with his downsizing stare. I knew from the moment; he kicked the door open. He is going to be a hard man to please. A few seconds has pass before he uttered a word, only to criticize my plaque. He said he read my profile and wanted nothing less; that’s one role I’m well accustomed to. Soon enough, I put my game face on and became his right hand man.
My identity was justified for its purpose of survival. I survived two years in the shadows of my own chameleon. Animals have a way of protecting themselves. Unlike animals, we don’t use claws; teeth; or long, sharp quills of a porcupine to protect ourselves. I use my mind to conceive my identity. Like the chameleon, I used my mind to control my surroundings, the situations, and the people around me through the use of blended identities.
